


The Cutting Room Floor

by Agent0fChaos (wir_sind_die_Jager)



Series: Power and Chaos [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Domestic Violence, F/M, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Power Dynamics, Spanking, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wir_sind_die_Jager/pseuds/Agent0fChaos
Summary: Scenes that take place during "A Better Class of Criminal" but do not fit into the main story layout.





	1. Eight of Diamonds: Skills Become Profitable

**Author's Note:**

> I created a series of one shots that take place during "A Better Class of Criminal" Most of them are pure smut and violence, but there is also quite a lot of introspection from the characters. I decided to move them over to AO3 under one header "The Cutting Room Floor" and each chapter is a different one shot that takes place during A Better Class of Criminal. Most are Joker/Harley, but I also have some Scarecrow/Thomas Schiff in here, too. I am going to post them in time order of when they allegedly take place within the fanfic. The titles (mostly) come from a website I was using as a resource to learn about playing cards and their symbolism (much like the tarot deck). They relate in some way or another to each of these one-shots. 
> 
> Note for this chapter: Saint Dymphna is the patroness of mental illness, Saint Elias for imprisonment, and Saint Martha for servitude.

A horrific summer thunderstorm brought a blackout to the Joker's warehouse, encasing the building and its surrounding lot into total darkness. Darkness in and of itself wasn't a problem, but it was an annoyance as he had relieved his employees of their duties that evening. Only two of his subordinates reside in the warehouse full time, but once dismissed found other arrangements. The other two men on his payroll had apartments close by. No matter thinking on it, all four of them were out of reach for the night, blackout or not.   
  
Harley was in no state to be told to go hunt around for some back up lights, either. When he had come home earlier that day, Joker had found Harley in a very unsettling state after having some sort of anxiety attack that she took out most cruelly on her own body.   
  
_That's not fair_, the Joker had thought as he stood over her prone body, frustrated at the situation more than at her directly. He liked the idea of her being so dependent on him, his opinions, his moods and thoughts. On the other hand, she needed to be able to keep her head together when he couldn't be there to hold her little hand. For a fleeting moment, he had worried that she wouldn't be able to go through with her big public premier at the Iceberg Lounge, where he would debut her officially as Harley Quinn when they shook things up a bit during Boxy Bennett's thirtieth birthday party. The moment of doubt had passed, though, and Joker came back to his previous confidence that he had not failed in any way; Harley's breakdown was merely a testament to his grip on her mind, and once reassured and soothed back into sanguine submission she would be fine.  
  
_And just how do we get back to that sanguine state of mind?_ Joker pondered as he stood downstairs, three gaudy Catholic candles tucked under his left arm and an oversized novelty wooden lollipop in his right. _We lighten things up a bit. _  
  
The first candle was a red wax Saint Dymphna, a woman etched in white with a shawl on her head and a dagger across her torso. He had thought it was a cross initially, but found this to be far more pleasing and less of an eye sore than the other two candles. A man called Saint Elias was lit next, his bored and impatient expression having greatly impressed the Joker, despite the green wax and prayer begging to be released from imprisonment in religious gold type face. Lastly, a yellow wax candle with a cheesy fake stained glass window depicting a very serious looking woman called Martha. The weather behind her figure looked so friendly in comparison to her dour piety, a juxtaposition Joker found highly amusing. Religion was always a bad joke to him. Why prostrate oneself for the sake of these laughable, imaginary creatures of light and fairy dust, especially when there were more creative, not to mention frighteningly real, people to cower before?   
  
He found Harley on the floor of the upstairs office he had converted into his bedroom. Right before the blackout she had tried to weasel her wicked charms on him, and her cockiness getting the better of her, the Joker felt the need to put Harley in her place. Well. _Knee_ her in her place was more like it. At least she stayed put, exactly as he had instructed her. _Good girl._ He wasn't a bad guy, really, nor was he too proud a man to admit when she did well, either. Chuckling at the sight of the tissue in her nose, the Joker sat on his futon bed, legs over the side as he lit the candles one by one.  
  
Setting each of the candles down on the floor illuminated her figure, and for a moment he thought she had fallen asleep, until the last candle's light glowed across her face, her big, baby blue eyes staring up at him curiously, adoringly. He had dressed her in one of his tailored dress shirts, one he had forgotten he even owned. As she was nearly a foot shorter than him, his shirt went down to her upper thighs, hanging on her quite nicely. It was kind of cute.  
  
"Look, baby, Daddy brought you a treat," he snickered, handing her the wooden novelty lollipop. She took it, keeping down on the ground, and mumbled her thanks. "OK, give it back." Snatching it from her, Joker set it beside him before reaching down to scoop her up, effortlessly lifting her and placing her sideways on his lap, her cheek pressed against his chest. With one hand he cradled her painfully close to his body, arm slung around her tightly. With the other, he took hold of the dagger she had used on herself during her panic attack in his absence. He held the dagger before her face.  
  
"New house rule: Little girls, AKA you, are not permitted to use sharp implements without adult supervision, AKA me. I'm the only one who may ever handle this knife on you. I don't care if you use it to slice someone else up, but if I ever catch you trying to do what I know you were doing earlier, I will leave you with a scar you're not soon to forget. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, Harleykins?"  
  
"Yes," Harley gasped, remembering to breathe properly.   
  
"Because, really," said the Joker as he compulsively licked his lips, leaning closer against her head, arching his neck so that his lips were directly above her ear. "If you, uh, don't need me..."  
  
"No!" she exclaimed, clinging to him tightly. "That's not true. I need you! I just...I just missed you."  
  
"Hmm," was all he replied, staring down, her eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights, her little chest heaving with rising panic. He had scared her more with the threat of leaving her alone rather than with the act of cutting her to itty bitty mince meat. How interesting. _Note to self: use in future._  
  
Dropping the knife, Joker picked up the wooden lollipop and without ceremony, smacked her bottom hard, causing her to jolt forward with a loud cry. Grasping her tighter than before, he brought the novelty toy against her bare buttocks over and over, and though she made noises of discomfort, the air slowed the object down, softening each blow. With a frustrated growl, Joker put the lollipop down and stood up, slinging Harley over his shoulder as he marched over to the corner of the room where Harley always kept his belongings nice and tidy. No matter how many times he ransacked it, tossing his possessions every which way, as he was doing just then.   
  
"There you are," he said with a touch of reprimand in his voice, holding his serrated knife up to the candlelight before returning to the bed, sliding Harley back in the same position and working around her lithe body, cutting jagged rounded holes in the wooden lollipop.   
  
When he was finished, he tossed the knife into the darkness and with no warning tested out his new masterpiece. Catching Harley off-guard was only half of the delight that came from her painful shriek as she arched her body upward in pain. Joker cackled mercilessly, raining the holy, tacky novelty toy down against her ass in rapid succession, each blow eliciting a louder cry than the last. He soon began to notice a slight pattern to the merciless smacks and her sweet cries, a kind of rhythm that made it all so very melodious to him, the descant of the makeshift paddle as it cracked against her soft flesh, cueing the aria of her shrill, soprano wails in a cacophony of agony; a symphony written specifically by and for him.  
  
Her skin was quite red, but no amount of speed or strength backed into the blows brought a deep enough red to satisfy him. This was one of the few times he did not want to give into the desire to spill blood. That was the easy way, and a quick fire end to her suffering once the initial sear of the cut ebbed away. No, he wanted to leave pain, not necessarily scars. Nothing visible anyway.  
  
Growls of aggravation emanating between his bared, gritted teeth over the severe lack of colors against her boring white flesh, the lollipop growing as tiresome as a broken record, the Joker was desperate for more. His eyes serendipitously fell on the candles sitting innocently at his feet, and in one fluid movement, Joker threw the lollipop with one hand, pulled up the dress shirt, and after snatching up Saint Dymphna dumped the hot, melted red wax across Harley's already sensitive skin.  
  
Howling in pain, Harley turned her face against him, trying to smother her cries of anguish. She felt like her flesh was melting, oh god, was that her skin dripping off? Harley daren't look back...  
  
Eyes widening with glee, the Joker relished the bright, cherry red wax as it drip, dripped all over her skin, sinking into the crevice between her delicious, previously flawless cheeks. And that scream she made, **that scream!** It was a song he could put on repeat forever.   
  
"Red does get a bit old, doesn't it, pumpkin?" he said casually, and before she could register what he meant, he splashed her with the blue wax of Saint Elias. Pressing her face against the fabric of his shirt, Harley could not find her voice any longer. Choking gasps came out of her throat, even as he laughed at her, his chest reverberating against her. Using the very tip of his index fingernail, Joker swirled the red and blue wax together, making a lollipop design on the small of her back. No, it wasn't quite perfect. It was too dark and bland. Could use a little splatter of cheer...yellow, the color of sunshine and happiness.   
  
After relighting the red wax Dymphna candle for light, Joker picked up the Saint Martha's candle, careful not to just go overboard this time, the Joker held it up directly above Harley's quivering back, welts already beginning to rise. Gently tipping the glass, Joker daintily poured droplets of yellow wax, a line of increasingly larger circles lining up with Harley's spine.   
  
"Don't be such a squirmy worm, Harleygirl," said the Joker sweetly with just a hint of menace in his voice. "I'm making a pretty picture."  
  
"O-ok, Mister J," Harley's muffled replied against his chest. The wax was cooling now, and her skin was becoming accustomed to the small drops of wax, intense heat for a few seconds, then slowly dulling and ebbing into lukewarm, eventually cooling. The more methodical his wax design became, the more meditative Harley became about the entire ordeal. It wasn't unpleasant really, although the thumbprint marks he was leaving in the droplets jabbed against her spine most uncomfortably.   
  
After leaving his thumbprints sealed in friendly yellow wax across her spine, a swirling mass of primary colors across her scorched and welting backside, and happily, unconsciously sucking on his bottom lip, the Joker finally felt satisfied with his work of art. Smoothing the dress shirt back down, he gently petted her until he felt the familiar stirrings of desire slowly building its way through him. Eyeing the single candle still burning, the Joker impulsively jammed two fingers into the hot, softened wax, ignoring the pain as he wiggled the digits down to the knuckle, sure to cover every bit of skin with red wax before pulling out and quickly, so as not to lose the heat, shoved his fingers between Harley's legs.   
  
Hissing from the unexpected intrusion, Harley grasped at his suspenders as he stroked her to arousal, the heated wax covered fingers spreading a surprisingly pleasing heat, despite the soreness she caused to herself earlier with the hilt of the knife. It was not unlike a heating pad, soothing sore muscles and mingling with her body's natural warmth. Brushing the hardening wax against her clit, the slickness of the wax too smooth and gentle to truly give her release, Joker teased her over and over, furiously sucking on his bottom lip as he watched her body rise and fall, her vocals matching, before he finally drew out his fingers, flexing them until the wax crumbled enough for him to dive back in and vigorously work her clit.   
  
"You really don't deserve this," he told her as he added his thumb, stretching her wide, pulling and pinching her clit mercilessly before she climaxed hard, his long fingers stroking her slick inner lips, eliciting orgasmic tremors even after she came. "But you know this already, don't you, pumpkin?"  
  
Harley nodded.  
  
"Say. It."  
  
"I-I don't deserve this."  
  
His lips were above her ear again, his breath hot on her sweaty skin.   
  
"And just what exactly don't you deserve?"  
  
"A-anything."  
  
"Precisely," he replied before yanking her up by her pigtails, raising her to her knees and wrapping her legs around his waist as he unzipped his trousers and freed his erection, sliding Harley down to the hilt, her throaty moan making him flick his tongue out against her parted lips. Licking her dry lips, snaking the tip of his tongue in and out of her mouth, drawing out her smaller pink tongue, he bit and worried her pouting bottom lip. Controlling her gyrations with his hands firmly grasped on her bottom, bouncing her on his cock as she tightly wound her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.  
  
Feeling his climax build, Joker lay Harley on her back and bent her legs against her chest before covering her with his impressive body, pinning her down, grunting as he thrusted deeply, her muscles suddenly contracting around him as he slid in to the root of his cock and emptied himself inside her.  
  
Pulling out of her, Joker was quick to put his cock back in his pants and smooth down his clothes as if nothing had just transpired. Seized with a new idea, he pushed Harley onto her side and lay against her back, lifting up the shirt he let her borrow to look at her waxy back. It looked like he had just fucked her on a pile of melting crayons. The image made him chuckle as he brushed away the flaking wax pieces from her skin, digging his nails under the more stubborn pieces until all that was left on her skin was raised red welts and imprints of the fun he just had.   
  
Idly tracing the outlines of her temporary branding, the Joker suddenly remembered the newspaper he abandoned when the lights went out, slapping Harley across her sore backside, causing her to jump.  
  
"Harley, you bad girl! Look what you made me do!" Joker sat up and felt around the floor for the discarded utility lighter, found it, and lit the candles once more, arranging them in a semi circle near the head of his side of the bed. Picking up his newspaper, Joker grumbled to himself as he re-ordered it. "Stupid girl...distracting me from my evening paper..." With a resounding humph, Joker found the section he wanted to read and, turning on his side away from Harley, went back to his newspaper.  
  
Smiling as she watched him hunch over towards the candlelight, Harley contentedly curled up on her side and brought the fabric of the borrowed dress shirt up to her nose, deeply inhaling the intermingling scents of his and her body sweat. The odor was a natural aphrodisiac to her, but having her fill and knowing she would only ruin the otherwise pleasant mood by acting on any urges, Harley was satisfied to feast on him with her eyes. Her thighs tightly clamped together since the moment he left her body, possessively determined to keep his fluids in her body for as long as she could, Harley slowly drifted to a peaceful slumber. 


	2. Seven of Hearts: Unrealistic Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During her confinement in the pretty pink room, Harley starts to day dream about life after chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during Chapter 12 of A Better Class of Criminal. This one is rated a soft R.

Harley was getting used to her small pink world. It was day four of being kept in the bedroom of a small, unknown girl who was away on summer vacation with her parents while Joker and his gang kept a very keen guard on their stately brick home, built in the Federal style popular when Bristol, one of the wealthiest areas of Gotham, was first established in the eighteen hundreds.   
  
For reasons unknown to her, Harley had been ordered to stay in the bedroom belonging to the owner's little girl. Not just for sleep, mind, but every waking moment as well. She never asked for an explanation; to question her Mister J would be erroneously cataclysmic for her and she knew it. He wasn't totally unreasonable about it, of course...he let her out sometimes for the restroom and food (when he remembered her up there, anyway). Sometimes his visits were few and far between, leaving Harley's stomach growling or her intestines twisted with basic human need. Other occasions, he was there with her frequently, his mood swings as rapid as the opening and closing of a door; in with boiling, white hot rage and out with a song in his heart and a smile on his face.   
  
Determined to be a good girl about her pretty pink prison, Harley woke with a good attitude each and every day, resolved to show her Puddin' just how much she enjoyed her confinement, appreciated his thoughtfulness in giving her a space of her very own.   
  
By Monday afternoon however, her fourth day in the room, Harley's previous confidence began to falter, sinking deeper into the despair of boredom. It had already been eighteen hours since Mister J's last visit and Harley was growing antsy. She had to be inventive with her exuberant amount of spare time, having already played with everything the frilly bedroom had to offer her, from the pink and blue dollhouse that stood up to Harley's torso, to the white Davenport toy chest at the foot of the canopy bed, crammed with dolls, puppets and stuffed animals galore.  
  
Dress up had always been her favorite game in her past life, when she really was a child. She could never settle on a role, though, always wanting to put on an outfit, admire herself in the mirror and after acting out a good ten minutes worth of imaginary play, she would promptly discard the role in favor of another. Doctor, nurse, princess, ballerina, wife, mother, fairy, cowgirl, pirate, Harley tried them all on for good size. None of them ever seemed to stick, her fickle mind unable to make a concrete choice.   
  
Now, however, playing dress up had never been easier, the choices so clear. She passed over the flimsy pastel princess and fairy costumes, reaching instead for the snow white tulle and satin bride outfit. The dress did not fit her, unfortunately, her womanly figure unable to squeeze into the child size costume. However, the veil was just right for her head and wear it Harley did, and often, mostly when she played with the dollhouse, her other favorite item in the bedroom.   
  
When she first approached the dollhouse, it was just another lifeless toy to while away the hours between the Joker's visits to her, but slowly, ever so slowly, with the veil of white wedding tulle haloing her blonde head, Harley came to see this perfect pink and blue Georgian manor as the ideal home. It was just the kind of home she wanted for her and Mister J.  
  
Playing with the inanimate doll family led Harley to thinking about her own family, not the one she left behind in Long Island, but her new family consisting of Daddy, (Mister J) and herself. They wouldn't be able to stay in this house for long, would they? No, it wasn't properly furnished to his tastes and likings and the overhaul would be too much a project for him to burden his great mind with. After this big plan of his came to fruition this weekend and it was time to move on, Harley wondered how she could tactfully suggest the idea of a little time spent to themselves...away from Gotham, the police, Batman, the gang, and all other forces yapping at his heels.   
  
Maybe once she had him all to herself, away from the stress and noise, she could finally get him to sit still and have a real conversation about their future. Maybe over dinner, Harley thought as she looked inside the dollhouse, noting the beautiful sweet and savory spread the doll wife had made for her doll family. Sure, Mister J said her cooking was best suited for the damned doing time in one of the nine circles of hell, but that's only because she never had the opportunity or the desire to cook before. Now that she had to look out for his well being, Harley's attitude on the matter was quite the reverse.   
  
So over a nice, well balanced, delicious home cooked meal Harley would bring up the big questions about their future together. What would he say? Harley could not imagine this, he was always so unpredictable. Maybe he would turn the question on her. He always had a funny habit of doing that sort of thing. She would have to be _very careful_ with her words, she knew this well and good by now. Trying to pin down her thoughts and formulate a plan, Harley suddenly shook her head, her blond pigtails slapping the sides of her face. It was no use scripting it all out now. She worked best under pressure and would wing it when the moment presented itself.  
  
Gazing enviously at the little doll family, Harley's eyes fell on the cozy little nursery and her giggling thoughts turned wistfully to children. Being a mother had never appealed to her before, but she realized now that was because there had never been someone worthy enough with which to create little genetic copy cats. _But who wouldn't want a couple of sweet babies,_ Harley thought, gently rocking the tiny wooden cradle with her index finger, her eyes daftly bobbing with the motion as a long forgotten lullaby began to hum in her throat.   
  
Mister J would be such a great dad. He was loving, energetic, fun, ever so smart, and had a killer sense of humor. True, Harley wouldn't be able to always go along to work with him...but staying at home with the kids, _his kids_, was a fair trade off. Protecting, nurturing their perfect family like a mother hen. And when he was finished with each caper, weary from a long, hard day of work, Harley would open the door for him and give him the biggest, warmest welcome home smile ever. The kids would hug him (after mama Harley received her kiss) and dutifully take any belongings he no longer needed off his hard working hands so he could sit and relax before dinner. _Mmmm, is that pot roast, Harleykins? My favorite! You sure outdo yourself._  
  
It may be sappy to anyone looking in from the outside, but they would secretly be jealous. Green eyed with envy at her life, their life together. There would be road trips, vacations, holidays to celebrate, romantic getaways and friends and family to make along the way.  
  
_But how to entice him?_ That was the million dollar question. Harley could only hope this big plan Joker had going on was enough to satisfy him for a long while, and afterwards he would be grateful for a little time off. She couldn't even imagine how exhausting the whole ordeal had been for him, especially with the few but profoundly unexpected and unpleasant surprises. Like the warehouse blowing up. That kind of stress level would never fly with Harley, and she was all the more appreciative of her beau for taking care of her so she never had to worry.  
  
_He's such a good provider_, Harley thought with a dreamy inward sigh, taking hold of the doll husband and cradling him in her hand. She only wanted to give him the best life she could mold for them if given the chance. He had done so much for her already, the very least she could do was return the favor with more than just simple gratitude. Harley wanted to give him stability, a life that did not necessitate constantly being on the run from the law, or squatting in poorly lit warehouses and houses that insulted the Joker's natural pizzazz. She wanted to give him everything he ever wanted but was too selfless to give to himself, burdened with the daunting demands of his work ethic and creative drive.  
  
The only trick left for Harley to figure out now was how to bestow these tokens of appreciation on him without insulting his pride. Puddin' was such a proud man...he would never accept her gifts unless he specifically asked for them.   
  
_Yes!_ Harley suddenly realized, sitting tall with a wide smile on her face, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Quickly grabbing the doll wife, Harley held the doll couple in her hands as her mind raced with a fresh plan. Of course. Mister J would only go for the house, the kids, and the pot roast if he thought of it first. It had to be **his** idea and he could never, ever know that his little Harleygirl really planted it there.  
  
Giggling out loud, Harley brought the doll couple together for a sweet kiss before a loud slap cracked against her cheek, resonating through the room as she tumbled on her side, the inanimate husband and wife spinning across the floor.  
  
"What the hell is the matter with you?" Joker snarled angrily, his hands on his hips as he glared down at Harley. Holding her hand to her cheek as the spots before her eyes cleared away, Harley cowered as she saw the glittering malice and the astonishing disappointment in his eyes. She could take the anger, but God please take away the disappointment. "I've been standing at that door calling your name for a solid minute, little girl."  
  
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she gasped, tears of shame welling in her eyes.  
  
"Do you hear me now?" he asked, wagging his head mockingly at her.  
  
"Yes. I do." Harley pursed her lips tightly, her blue eyes automatically shifting to the veil framing her heart shaped face directly after the words left her mouth.  
  
"Good." His eyes flickered around the room before settling on her with contemptuous curiosity, even suspicion. "What were you doing in here?"  
  
"Just...playing make believe."  
  
"Well get your head out of the clouds and put on something decent. I'm feeling particularly masochistic today, so come downstairs and try to make us something halfway edible." He turned to leave, only pausing at the door to look back at her, inhale deeply and add, "Phew! You smell, Harley girl. Take a shower or something why dontcha?"  
  
He closed the door behind him, leaving Harley alone to gather her thoughts. Picking up the dolls, she set the wife in the bathroom and the husband in the den of the dollhouse. _Gosh there are a lot of rooms,_ Harley thought with dismay as her eyes roved over the ridiculously large dollhouse. Rooms to be cleaned and kept up. Who needs all of these rooms? _Families,_ Harley supposed. _Kids need a lot of room to grow._   
  
_Speaking of growing..._Harley looked down at her body. Her lovely figure that she spent many years of proper, healthy eating and exercise to maintain. Babies would compromise her figure, throw her all of out balance and there were no guarantees on getting it back. And wouldn't there be some sort of messed up recovery period between giving birth and being able to get down and dirty with her man? Harley had enough trouble waiting around for Joker's attention, spoil her though he did, and could not imagine having to wait weeks or months. Babies were noisy, too. She could wish that no child of hers would ever wake her up for its own selfish purposes but Harley knew better. Babies have a mind of their own.  
  
_So nix on the kids,_ Harley thought with finality as she stood up. _Mister J and I are young still, we got a lotta time before kids ever need to be thought of. Besides,_ thought Harley with a twist of her lips and wiggle of her eyebrows, _Maybe we will just adopt._  
  
Removing the veil from her head, Harley suddenly felt a pang of longing.   
  
"I still wouldn't mind this," she said out loud before reluctantly releasing her hands, watching the mass of white tulle flit to the floor. Unceremoniously stepping over the dress up accessory, Harley crossed the threshold of the pink bedroom and went to clean herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Although this work of fiction depicts graphic abuse, please know I do not romanticize nor condone it. If you or a loved one need help, please know there are free and confidential resources there to help, such as: <http://www.feminist.org/911/crisis.html>


End file.
